You felt your entire body shudder as Erik pulled up to the familiar black gate. You felt a small tingling inside of your stomach on the entire way here. You and Erik rarely argued so you were a bit anxious about what he had planned for tonight.
Erik is a natural dominant man. Prior to Erik, sure you had guys who could choke you, or make you feel good sometimes, but they were not the dominant that Erik was. Come to think of it that is probably why you two rarely argued. The last argument ended up with you crying on your knees as Erik fucked your face.
You felt the tip of his dick repeatedly slam to the back of your throat. Fresh tears were running down your cheeks but his movements did not halt. He knew your limit and this was not it. Maybe, just maybe, if you had not called him a “B.A.N” under your breath then you wouldn’t be in this predicament.
You were used to your previous unhealthy relationship and Erik stopped that shit once and for all. In the beginning he knew the small stuff that was clearly coming from a place of prior mistreatment. He was patient and that’s how you two ended up being together. However, what you said to him was not warranted and he wasn’t going to be sweet about it.
You didn’t know that he heard you until you heard his game console power off. Not pause but completely power off. You felt like a piece of tuna cornered by a shark. But you attempted to play it cool and simply ask, “what’s up?”
Erik shook his head and finally approached you and grabbed your hand tightly, leading you back to the living room area. You understood his urging and slowly got to your knees. Of course you’ve sucked his dick in this position many times before, but this was different. There wasn’t going to be any encouragement. He sat his arms up on the back of the couch and pulled his pants down.
“I’m a what sweetheart? Let me hear you say it on this dick since you so bold. And take that shirt off too.”
So here you were shirtless, titties bouncing, as Erik pushed your head further and further down his dick. Spit, tears, and slobber gathered all around his dick and you began to use your hands to stroke him as you sucked. No other man in the world would’ve had the upper hand to do this to you, but then there was Erik.
The tears this time were from embarrassment. You knew he didn’t play that so you had nobody else to blame. Almost as if he read your thoughts he spoke quick after. He fisted a good chunk of your hair to pull you off of him.
“We don’t do that shit. Okay?”
You nodded your head and even though you were a nasty mess, Erik still looked at you with those alluring eyes. This time you were the one to start it back up. You wanted to apologize for the error and the low moans coming from his mouth encouraged you to go on. He came soon afterwards with long ropes of cum lubricating the back of your throat and you swallowed it all.
“Get upstairs.”
The sound of the car doors unlocking stopped your flashback. You didn’t do anything wrong but your natural submission to Erik conflicted your feelings. Still, you didn’t open the door, as there’s a whole other story about what happened when you did that.
The two of you walked in comfortable silence to the his front door. He had to let your hand go in order to unlock the door and you frowned at the lack of warmth. That’s when it hit you. You loved Erik. Yeah you two were together for a little while and were committed to each other, but the sudden realization that you haven’t seen or felt his warmth for days troubled you.
“Come on.”
Erik’s voice stopped your thoughts and you reattached your hand to his. You glanced down your hands and back to your eyes. You couldn’t read his expression but you know that he read yours. Erik always knew what you wanted and how you felt, so this entire argument was his fault for being too stubborn to admit his wrongdoing. However, he was confident that after tonight you would forget all about it.
You walked to his bedroom and gasped at the rose pedals and flowers laid out. Heart shaped chocolate, wine, fresh fruit, and candy covered the bed. You felt your bottom lip begin to poke out and you knew the tears would soon follow. Erik watched you closely, stepping out of his shoes in the process.
You practically jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around him. Your man. Your man. Your man.
“Don’t do that again. I was so worried about you!” You scolded in the midst of your tears. You patted your face in attempt not to drag your makeup down.
“I won’t baby and I’m sorry. There’s no excuse to make you sit up and worry about me. Not talking and seeing you for days hurt a nigga’s soul. We can’t be doing that shit.” His arms wrapped around you tightly. He’s just happy that he got his baby back. You had no clue the lengths he was going through just to make sure he was forgiven.
He softly placed you down in the one corner of the bed that wasn’t completely decorated. He bent down to give you a quick kiss before taking your heels and panties off. You felt the sudden cool breeze on your heat and began to squirm. He lifted the dress up and grunted once he finally seen what rightfully belonged to him.
This time Erik fell to his knees.
You could already feel the electrifying feeling in your spine as you waited on him to get closer. Erik did not fall restless so you knew that if he was going to apologize that you were gonna be here for a while.
In one motion you felt his thick lips place a kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help the moan that followed. Erik’s lips curled into a smile when he felt your body shudder. He used his hands to expose the skin of your clit and began to lick and suck on it. In a couple of minutes you were already a withering, squirting mess.
He was far from finished. “That’s one.” You heard him growl. Realization hit you that he was not leaving your legs until you got nine more out. By your second orgasm you began to cream. Erik’s tongue was lapping your clit over and over again and when you tried to push him away he tightened his grip on you.
Instead of allowing you to rest he pushed in two fingers and watched as your pussy opened up to them. He thrusted them upwards in the motion that he learned made your back arch and kissed your pussy lips as he did so. You were melting underneath him. Yelling out all types of obscenities. By orgasm four you squirted again, thanks to his fingers curling up repeatedly. He wasn’t satisfied even though he heard the screams leaving your mouth.
Again, this was your fault. You told him that you never came from oral sex once you two began dating and having open conversations. By the next day Erik had made you squirt all over his backseat. His detailer never asked any questions, but your face still flushed when Erik made you ride with him to pick the car up. “Look at how much he scrubbing. You soaked them seats mama.”
So every time that Erik ate you out he took it to the extreme. You were not allowed one or two orgasms. He praised you and that meant that you needed to cum on his tongue at least five times. But if he was counting then you can expect that number to double.
You looked down to see Erik’s eyes closed as he pushed you to your limit. His tongue darting in and out of your folds, arms keeping you still, and your clit was damn near swollen from the attention. You were never ignoring this man again. Your body jerked when you felt an unknown feeling at your entrance. That wasn’t daddy.
In a swift second the object began to vibrate and your body thrashed.
“E-Erik! I can’t!” You yell at him and he just smiles. Your body arching up to the vibrator thrusting in and out of you got his dick rock hard. He was enjoying the view.
“I’m just trying to say I’m sorry baby.” He said smugly. He knew that you were putty in his hands and he loved every second of it.
“Just cum one more time for me.” And you did just that. With two more thrusts from the white toy you were a mess. Nipples protruded, tears freshly falling down your face, and pussy completely drenched. You knew that Erik loved to eat your pussy but tonight had your thoughts so slurred that you weren’t making any sense.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Contents: violence, heartbreak, dishonesty, possible infidelity, black love, black family, sexual themes, usuage of the 'n' word, swearing, and other possible offensive shit...
*in other words, you don't like it, don't read it... :) *
Be sure to read Part Uno
Part Dos: "Flashbacks of Tokyo"
After about four months of separation, Erik made the first attempt to reach out his wife… He was pleased when she answered the phone. They talked for hours, it was the afternoon in Japan and late in the evening in America and she had check out her hotel room at 9:30 am, not to mention wall-to-wall meetings with producers the next day… But none of that mattered. The first time they video called began awkwardly, on her end. Erik was still his flirtatious, usual self… But Normandy felt shy suddenly.
“How is Japan treating you?” She stretched across the hotel room’s queen-sized bed. Erik made her promise to video call him before she went to bed. HeHer hair encased in her pink Sailor Moon, silk hair bonnet that Erik gifted her while they were dating;
“It’s decent over here… Everyone short like a motherfucker.” She giggles at his complaint. “But a nigga just needs his Baby Doll here with him, ya know?”
Normandy faces warms with blush.
“Well, well, well,” Erik gives her a toothy, arrogant smirk. His golds sparkle in the sunlight, as he takes a brisk walk around the nature path behind his condo. He didn’t care where he was, if Normandy called while he was working—he was stopping to talk to her. It pissed some of the show promotors off that he would cut a match short so that he would not miss a call from his wife.
Erik was desperately trying to mend his marriage, even from 7,000 miles away.
“A nigga is pleased to know that I can still bring the shyness outta yo pretty ass.”
Norm turns her head from the phone bashfully.
“Aht, aht, aht… Keep them eyes on me at all times, Juicy.” She looks at him through her long lashes. “
And this became a nightly routine. Around 11 pm at night, Erik called like clockwork… and they talked about nothing sometimes… Just wanting to hear each other breathe. Normandy often fell asleep on facetime and Erik would watch her sleep, taking in her beauty each second.
God, how he loved her.
A year in, Erik convinces Normandy to take a trip to Japan while she was off the road. Their schedules were hectic and busy, Erik could not leave Japan because he had back-to-back shows booked for weeks in Japan, but Normandy had a few weeks off before she begins traveling with the talent again.
Tokyo was moody that night.
Rain had long since stopped, but the scent of petrichor still lingered in the cool breeze that drifted between the neon-lit buildings of Shibuya. The city pulsed with life below Erik's penthouse suite, where he stood shirtless on the balcony, towel slung low on his waist, damp locs hanging loose and wild around his brooding face.
He should’ve been asleep.
He’d trained hard that day, did two press interviews, and even taped a promotional segment for the upcoming double-title match he had in Osaka next week. But his spirit wasn’t settled. His body was here in Japan—but his soul…?
His soul was stuck in Atlanta.
On her.
Normandy.
His Baby Doll.
Every night, he'd talk to her photo on his nightstand like a fool. She had no idea how many nights he stared at her contact in his phone, thumb hovering over the call button, his pride never letting him follow through. But her voice last month—soft and hesitant—had cracked the ice inside his chest. He’d replayed her saying “I’ve missed you more…” like it was scripture.
And he wasn’t waiting anymore.
He had sent for her.
Not a call. Not a text.
A plane ticket.
A black envelope, sealed in gold wax, hand-delivered by one of TKOPW’s trusted messengers, addressed only: To Mrs. Normandy Stevens- Udaku.
Inside: a custom first-class boarding pass, a penthouse key card, and a handwritten note on parchment.
“Time to fix us. Tokyo is waiting. I’m waiting. Let me show you what forever looks like.”
– N’Jadaka.
Normandy’s boots clicked softly against the polished tile as she walked past the terminal doors, oversized black sunglasses shielding her sleep-deprived eyes.
She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving.
Not Sugar. Not Monterey. Not even Saige. The only person who knew was the Uber driver who picked her up from her house in a black SUV and grinned when she said she was heading to Tokyo.
“You chasing love or running from it?” he’d asked with a wink.
She didn’t answer.
Because the truth was… she wasn’t sure yet.
Erik couldn’t meet her at the airport, but the time she landed he was in the middle of a show, his personal chauffer, Benjiro, met her at the baggage claim, the small man held up a sign that read:
Mrs. Juicy Baby Doll Killmonger
Which made her laugh and mad at the same time. Either Erik was trying to be funny, or if Benjiro just went with the names, he’s heard her husband call her.
After leaving the airport, she was offered a tour of the city, but she opted to go straight to Erik’s apartment. Extremely jetlagged. The drive took 45 to 50 minutes, during the ride, she texted her family back home and shot her husband a text for him to read once her was back in his dressing room. After the car pulled up the luxury skyscraper, Benjiro carried up her bags and escorted her in. Top floor. Penthouse suite. A room that was luxury dipped in ebony and gold. Silk curtains whispered against glass windows that stretched floor-to-ceiling, revealing the Tokyo skyline like a painting. Champagne on ice. A tray of sushi, tempura, and fresh fruit set beside chocolate-covered strawberries.
And orchids. Everywhere.
Purple orchids.
Her favorite.
And standing in the center of it all, in black silk pajama pants, barefoot, was him.
Her king.
Her husband.
His locs were freshly retwisted, pulled back into a low tail. A thin gold chain danced across his collarbone. The muscles in his chest flexed as he shifted, his brown skin kissed by candlelight.
Normandy froze in the doorway, her suitcase still in hand.
He stared at her like she was salvation.
“Juicy,” he rasped, voice low and reverent.
Her lips trembled. “N’Jadaka…”
He took one step forward, then another, crossing the room with the patience of a man afraid the dream would shatter if he moved too fast.
“You came.”
“I didn’t know if I should.”
“But you did.” He stopped just inches away. “And that’s all that matters to me right now.”
Silence.
Thick. Emotion-filled.
She felt her eyes burn, the lump in her throat threaten to rise. But before she could speak, he reached out, gently wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest.
Normandy melted.
The suitcase hit the ground with a soft thud, her arms snaking around his waist. Her cheek pressed into his skin, the thump of his heartbeat echoing in her ear.
“I missed this,” she whispered.
He kissed her hair. “I missed you.”
Minutes passed with neither moving.
Finally, she tilted her face up, their eyes locking.
“Erik… I don’t even know where we start.”
He cupped her chin. “We start with honesty. We start with no more pride. No more power plays. No more who’s right or wrong.”
She nodded slowly, her bottom lip trembling. “And if we can’t fix this?”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Then we die trying. But I’ll be damned if I let my marriage end over a job or a plane ticket. We built too much. We dreamed too big. And I still want it all… with you.”
A tear escaped her eye. “I want that too…”
Erik leaned in and kissed it away.
Then her cheek. Then the tip of her nose.
And finally, her lips.
The kiss wasn’t hungry at first. It was gentle. Apologetic. Full of longing. But as her hands slid up his back and his fingers gripped her waist, it deepened. Months of tension poured into that moment—their bodies remembering the rhythm of each other.
He lifted her with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the massive California king bed covered in purple rose petals, never breaking the kiss.
“I’m still mad at you,” she whispered breathlessly as he laid her down.
“Good,” he said, his gold slugs flashing as he smirked. “You can tell me all about it after I make you scream.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You are such a menace.”
“And you love it.”
Clothes disappeared. Time slowed.
What followed was a reintroduction.
Of lips.
Of skin.
Of soul.
Erik worshiped her like he was repenting. Normandy accepted him like she was being baptized. Their bodies moved in a harmony that hadn’t lost tempo despite the time and space. Moans echoed off the marble walls, soft jazz playing from the speaker he queued before she arrived.
And when they collapsed into each other’s arms, sweaty, breathless, and teary-eyed, she whispered:
“I’m not going anywhere this time…”
And he kissed her forehead, holding her tight. “Good. Because I already bought the house in Kyoto.”
Normandy shot up, eyes wide. “You what?”
He grinned, smug as ever. “It has a koi pond. And a nursery.”
She gasped.
“And you can design the writing room however you want.”
Silence.
Then a tearful laugh escaped her.
“You’re insane.”
“For you? Always.”
And in that foreign land, with history behind them and healing ahead… two stubborn hearts started stitching themselves back together.
Zoning back into her unfortunate reality. The hum of the monitors buzzed low around Normandy as she sat motionless in her director’s chair, her headset looped loosely around her neck. The noise of the crowd, the shouted commentary, and the chaos of live programming swirled in her ears—but none of it registered.
There had been scuttlebutt going around at N.E.W. Pro-wrestling’s headquarters all week about their champion’s return.
The creative team were on their toes with last minute changes for the night’s show. Killmonger is not only returning to N.E.W. but in his hometown, Oakland. The writing team had changed, edited, chopped in half, and added to the scripts so many times that the Editors were threatening a walk-out. But the feeling of sheer excitement lingered in the air among everyone.
Well, almost everyone...
Normandy stomach had been in knots since she received the news of Killmonger’s return to America. The thought of seeing him, again, after all the past time, made her, literally, sick. However, she did an outstanding job in concealing her feelings because no one thought she had been acting out of the ordinary. She went creative meetings, remained attentive to special details made by not only management, but the directors and even Killmonger himself; she strategized over the show’s script with the other group of writers ensuring that the scheduled matches, backstage segments, and in-ring promos were timed-out to the tee so that the last 45 minutes of airtime was dedicated solely to the to the King.
Many did stop and ask her: “How [she’s] feeling?”
Hell, after all, she is Mrs. Stevens-Udaku, also jokingly know as Queen Killmonger—only when someone was trying to piss her off. But to her husband she is simply just his Baby Doll or Juicy.
But after all the time that has past and being apart... Even she wondered if he still looked at her the same way.
Her mind kept taking her back to her back Kyoto, her most recent, but last moments with her husband.
The air smelled of cherry blossoms.
Normandy stepped out of the sleek black SUV, her soft-soled flats crunching against the polished pebble path that led to the secluded estate. Surrounded by whispering bamboo, thick green moss, and the serene trickle of a koi pond, the two-story house looked like something out of a dream.
“Welcome home,” Erik murmured beside her, reaching to take her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
Instead, her fingers slid between his. Warm. Familiar.
Still her favorite place to rest.
“Is this real?” she asked, unable to keep the awe from her voice.
Erik nodded, lips curving into a proud smirk. “Realer than your attitude after long creative meetings.”
She shot him a side-eye that made him laugh, and she couldn’t help but smile too. Damn him.
They walked up together, the traditional wooden entry gate creaking open with a soft groan. The house was a flawless blend of old Kyoto tradition and modern touches—tatami mats, dark wood beams, with huge windows that framed the mountain skyline.
He led her through the entryway, barefoot, her fingers trailing the clean lines of the shoji screens as they slid open one by one.
“This ain’t just a house,” he said, voice low, full of something unshakably tender. “This is our restart.”
Normandy stopped walking.
He turned to her, the glow of sunlight hitting his face just right, casting him in a soft, golden hue that made her heart clutch painfully in her chest.
“Erik…”
He stepped in, placed both hands gently on her cheeks, and pressed their foreheads together.
“No more running. No more ‘what ifs.’ You belong with me. We can do this again—smarter. Softer.”
Normandy swallowed.
Then let her tears fall freely.
He kissed each one as it slid down her face, then kissed her lips like he was swearing on them.
He showed her every inch of that house.
A sunroom turned creative nook with shelves waiting to be filled with her storyboards and vision books.
A guest room that he called her “decompression chamber,” already stocked with her favorite candles and stacks of “Ratchet TV Night” snacks.
A minimalist dining area where he promised to cook for her, or at least try without setting anything on fire.
And finally, the back room.
The nursery.
Painted in a faint shade of sage green, natural light pooled in from the wide window that looked out over the koi pond. A simple bassinet sat in the center, covered in soft linen, and folded onesies were neatly stacked on the dresser.
Normandy stood frozen in the doorway.
“You did all this?” she whispered, barely able to speak through the thick emotion swelling her throat.
“I needed something to hold onto,” Erik replied softly behind her, arms circling around her from behind, resting on her belly. “Something to fight for. Something to come home to.”
They stayed there for a long time, bodies pressed together, hearts beating in sync. He whispered dreams against her neck—about them, about legacy, about the child they’d try for again one day when they were ready.
That night, in that house, on a floor mattress covered in silk sheets, Erik made love to her like it was the first time and the last time all at once.
And in the morning, she woke up to breakfast already made, her robe warmed by the heater, and her man humming old school R&B while twisting his locs in the bathroom.
“Norm.”
Gasping, Norm quickly darts her eyes to the trailer’s door opening. Saige’s voice snapped her out of it.
Normandy blinked rapidly, sitting up straighter in her seat as her eyes struggled to focus back on the monitors.
“Huh?”
“You good?” Saige asked, voice concerned but not intrusive. “You zoned out for a second.”
Normandy nodded slowly; her voice soft. “Yeah. I’m good.”
But her fingers curled tightly around the water bottle in her lap.
The memory had been so vivid she could still feel the press of Erik’s lips against her collarbone. Could still hear him whispering "Kyoto was built for us."
And now… he was here.
In this arena.
On American soil again.
She wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she could be ready. But one thing she did know?
She wanted more memories like Kyoto.
More mornings wrapped up in his arms. More quiet smiles over shared meals.
Normandy placed the headset back on, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly.
And as the arena lights dimmed and the roaring crowd grew louder…
She knew it was almost time… for his arrival.
The lights of the monitors cast a soft, artificial glow on Normandy’s face as she sat frozen, headset back on, but not really listening. Not really here. The roar of the crowd was a distant hum. Sugar’s vibrant voice faded to a blur. Even the buzzing in her earpiece couldn’t pull her from the weight on her chest.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk now.
Knuckles pale.
She was spiraling.
Back into that damn house. When everything came officially crashing down… Back in Kyoto.
6 Weeks After Her Arrival to Kyoto
She was unpacking a new delivery of handmade ceramic bowls when she first heard it.
Voices.
Whispers.
A quiet conversation on the back deck of their home, the one that overlooked the koi pond.
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She was just going to bring Erik some hot tea like she always did after training.
But something in her spirit told her to pause.
The voice wasn’t Erik’s.
It was higher. Sultry. Smug.
A woman’s.
“...so you’re really just gonna let me leave like this?”
Normandy paused mid-step.
“I told you, Onya—this wasn’t supposed to be that,” Erik’s voice was hushed, sharp.
“Oh, but it is. I’m pregnant, Erik. You think your wife’s gonna be down for that? You said you wanted a baby—well, here’s one. You gonna abandon me now?”
Normandy’s heart stopped.
Pregnant?
No.
No. No. No.
The teacup slipped from her hand and shattered against the hardwood, the sound slicing through the silence like a gunshot.
Two seconds later, Erik burst through the sliding door, eyes wide, panic written all over his face.
“Baby—Norm—wait! Let me explain—”
Onya stood behind him, arms folded across her chest in a smug stance that made Normandy’s skin crawl. Her bright green wig was in a high ponytail, her smug smile punctuated by her obnoxiously pink bubblegum.
Normandy recognized her as Cyprus Oshun, one of the top black women performers in Japan… Once being someone that Normandy admired, was now the source of this dagger in her heart.
“I told you she’d find out eventually,” Onya hummed, eyes locking with Normandy like a challenge.
But Normandy was numb.
She turned and walked away.
Fast.
Heavy-footed.
Tears blinding her. Murder. Homicide etching into her brain.
Normandy sucked in a sharp breath, blinking back the sting that returned like a cruel friend. Her head bowed slightly, curls shielding her face as her vision blurred.
Saige noticed instantly.
“Norm?” she asked gently, touching her friend’s arm.
Normandy didn’t respond right away.
Saige crouched beside her chair now, squeezing her knee. “Norma... talk to me.”
The name—only Saige used it—shook her loose.
Her voice cracked. “I really thought we were okay. I was ready to start over. I was ready to stay.”
Saige’s brows pulled together, her tone hushed. “What happened?”
Normandy exhaled long and slow, like trying to keep herself from falling apart.
“Six weeks in. I had just accepted it... being in Japan, leaving everything behind, betting on us. I had started setting up our writing nook, planning meals. I was researching bilingual midwives, Saige.”
Saige's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her.
“Then I hear her voice... Onya. Loud. Unapologetic. ‘You said you wanted a baby—well, here’s one.’”
She swallowed hard.
“All I could think about was that night before he left, when we fought in that suite. When he said—” her voice dropped to a haunted whisper, “‘Because what you won’t do, trust another bitch will.’”
Saige’s face twisted in heartbreak and anger. “He said that to you?”
Norm nodded, tears threatening.
“I didn’t even let him finish explaining. I grabbed my passport and bounced.”
“Did he call?”
“Too many times. He sent voice notes. Emails. Begged me to believe him.”
Saige tilted her head, quietly asking, “Was it true?”
Normandy scuffed then shook her head slowly. “No. The hoe wasn’t pregnant. She admitted it to Sugar during a booking negotiation with N.E.W. Said she lied because she knew Erik would never choose her. She said, and I quote, ‘That man wanted his wife too damn bad.’”
Saige sat back slowly, stunned. And ready to kill.
Normandy chuckled bitterly through the tear streaks on her face.
“I guess I was just too devastated to care. Too broken to be rational. I just kept replaying his voice in my head. That moment felt like the death of us.”
Silence wrapped around them like a cold blanket.
Saige reached for a tissue and dabbed at Norm’s cheeks gently. “You loved him through everything. And you gave up everything to try again. That kind of betrayal, even just the idea of it, cuts deep.”
“He slept with her... I can forgive that because of the circumstances... But the possibility of her being pregnant broke something in me.”
“Then you’re human,” Saige said softly. “But girl… your love for that man is stitched into every damn breath you take. And if he’s here, it means he still believes y’all have a shot. What do you want?”
Normandy’s breath hitched as her eyes wandered back to the monitor showing the crowd.
The Killmonger logo had just flashed on the jumbotron.
The arena was losing its mind.
Saige stood, brushing off her pants, then smoothed Normandy’s blazer. “When you see him tonight, be honest. Even if it’s messy. Even if you cry. Say the shit that’s been rotting your soul from the inside out.”
Norm stared ahead, blinking away the fog in her gaze.
Her voice low, broken, but firm: “I miss my husband. But I don’t know if I can survive being hurt by him again.”
Saige kissed the top of her head. “Then don’t let him walk away without knowing that.”
The trailer door creaked open as a stagehand peeked in. “They’re ready for Killmonger’s entrance cue.”
Normandy’s pulse kicked up.
Heart pounding. Palms sweaty.
And for the first time in a long time…
She stood.
Head held high.
Because no matter what happened out there in that ring—
Tonight, she’d face him.
Face the pain.
Face the past.
Face the man who still held every shattered piece of her heart.
Imagine spending a day in bed with Erik Killmonger, and touching his scars.
Every little nub that covered Erik’s torso was a mark of someone that he had killed. You ran your fingers over them, thinking of each life that he had taken. It was the most unsettling thing about him, and yet you couldn’t keep away.
“You okay?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you. “Do they still scare you?”
You nuzzled further into his side, pressing a kiss to one of the scars on his side. “These just make me think, sometimes,” You admitted. “Do you regret any of them?”
“No,” Erik said, his voice turning hard. He used to hate letting other people touch his scars, but he had a soft spot for you. Always had. Always will. “Just making the world a better place, baby.”
You nodded, knowing that he really believed things worked that way. “As part of the world, I thank you.” You said, squeezing him tightly. He chuckled, and kissed the top of your head, then reached for his phone.
“I should put some clothes on, order some food.”
“Just ask postmates to bring it in here,” You whined, playfully. “You’re not stepping a foot out of his bed mister, or I’ll give you some scars myself.”
A/N: ahem...the man can get it from me. Just putting it out there
—————
The Dora Milaje took you in as their own since you were found, a child lost in the forest. They raised you, trained you and gave you a home in Wakanda despite being an outsider.
You worked hard for the armor you now wear and the weapons you wield. You’ve fought battles to protect the throne and have stood alongside Ayo and Okoye and the rest of the warriors. You’ve watched in pride as your childhood friend, the crowned prince T’challa ascended to the throne of King.
You weren’t backing down when he lost it to his long lost cousin, Njadaka. Or Erik.
Okoye gave you a warning look from across the room where she was sitting down among the council. You stood firm and quiet, clenching your teeth in anger as you silently glared at the man who stole the crown.
Soon the meeting adjourned and one by one the council members left, leaving only the Dora and the king.
“Y’all can leave, too.” King N’jadaka told them, sitting in his throne arrogantly. Looking up, his eyes met yours. You stilled, suddenly aware of the impact. “Except you.”
Okoye turned to him, with a couple of the Dora behind her, almost instinctively, as if protecting you. “But my king, she’s—-“
“Now!” He raised his voice, stopping them. They slowly nodded, leaving the room but not before throwing you a knowing look. Warning you to be careful. Soon, only the two of you were left.
“Y/N. Is it?” He spoke, bringing his finger to his lips as if in deep thought.
You nodded, still standing in the middle of the room, with your spear next to you. “Yes, my king.”
“I don’t appreciate your attitude towards me. Hell, I should kill you right now and add another mark on me.” He crossed his legs.
You shook your head, challenging him even if you knew he has the crown now. “You can try.”
“Nah. It would be too easy. You’re not really a warrior, are you? You’re not even Wakandan.” He sneered, standing up and walking over to you slowly. “You don’t deserve to be here.”
“Then go ahead and kill me. I would rather die for the Wakanda that I know and love instead of living in the Wakanda that I know you are going to destroy.” You said, your eyes looking up at he loomed over you. His height towering you as you glared at each other.
“Bitter words coming from such sweet lips.” Erik murmured, leaning over to whisper something by your ear. “Be careful, sweetheart. You turn your back on me and I might just grab your ass and make you princess.”
You fought the blush coming up to your cheeks, hoping that if it does show, he’d see it as anger. You didn’t know why but the new king had an effect on you. Maybe it wasn’t really hatred that you felt.
He suddenly chuckled, leaning away from you before walking out the throne room, leaving you and your heated thoughts alone.
For anon...enjoy! AU where Erik lives and is pretty chill (y/h/t means your hometown)
T’Challa: *bows* It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.
Y/N: *bows* And you as well, your Highness.
T’Challa: Erik tells me you’re from y/h/t.
Y/N: *nods* For all my life basically.
T’Challa: I imagine it is as beautiful if it is a reflection of you.
Erik: *tightens hold on your waist*
Y/N: *chuckles* I think Wakanda had my place beat in that category.
Erik: *smiles* Just like my pops told me. I could show you the sunset later.
Y/N: *bemused* *smiles* Sounds lovely. *to T’Challa* Any hotspots we should see?
T’Challa: *smirks* There are many. If you would like, I could escort you around.
Erik: Don’t worry about it, cuz. *grips your hand* We’ve got it covered.
T’Challa: *inward chuckling* Of course. Welcome to Wakanda.
Erik and Y/N: *leave*
Y/N: *smirking* Erik, can I ask you something?
Erik: *smiles* Sure thing, boo.
Y/N: Are you jealous?
Erik: What? *blushes slightly*
Y/N: Ooooo, you were! *snickering*
Erik: He just was a little too familiar.
Y/N: *kisses cheek* Trust me; you don’t have to be jealous. I love only you.
Erik: *grins* *tightens grip* Let’s go check this place out.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Contents: cursing, Smut, Possessive husband, sexual themse, black love, lowkey breeding kink, usuage of n word, wrestling, and other possible offensive shit...
*if you dont like it, don't read it*
Be sure to read Part Uno and Part Dos
Word Count: 6,452
The capacity crowd were still high energy from the main event, Epique Daughtry taking the win, earning the opportunity to face King Killmonger for the NEW International Championship. Normandy – Norm to everyone in the production crew – jotted down some notes from the twenty-three-minute highflying, slug fest, notes she would pass on to Monterey since he wrote and produced that match. He never ceased to amaze her, or any of the creatives in the back, with his ability to craft narrative in chaos.
Norm was deep in thought, analyzing the pacing of the third act, when the crowd died down somewhat. Not completely, just a lessening of the roar, the hum of conversation replacing the unified cheer. Then the house lights dropped to black. Pure, sudden blackness that swallowed the arena whole. Scattered gasps overtook the brief silence.
Then came the thunder. Not sound, but feeling. A rumble that went through the floor, the seats, the very air.
A single, stark spotlight beamed down over the southern entrance tunnel—the heel's path. And the arena erupted like a bomb went off.
“KILL-MON-GER! KILL-MON-GER! KILL-MON-GER!” The chant started as a ripple, then a wave, then a tsunami of sound.
“Aw, shit! The King! The King is here, ladies and gentlemen!” Sugar Boyce’s animated tone broadcasted, cutting through the arena noise with practiced ease.
His theme music hadn’t even hit yet. Didn’t need to. Because Erik Stevens—The Gōruden Yōkai—was already a storm in motion.
The gold-accented pyro flared violently across the stage as the screens lit up with flashes of his conquests overseas—bloodied matches, championship belts raised high, the haunting image of the Dogon mask glowing under a spotlight. The black-and-gold Wakandan jaguar was back on American soil.
It was so loud in the arena that you could literally hear the cheers blocks away, vibrating the walls of the production trailer. The Oakland crowd was pure chaos, chanting his name like it was gospel. The rafters vibrated and everyone was on their feet, a sea of mobile phone lights illuminating the darkness.
Then he appeared. Fans closest to him had to be held back by security, pure pandemonium erupting in the front rows. But Erik didn’t smile nor react to the pure unadulterated chaos he had caused. Not even a cocky smirk to acknowledge his power.
He just walked slow. Measured. Purposeful.
A long black fur coat with gold lining swept behind his boots like royalty. He wore no shirt underneath, only his carved torso layered with ritualistic scarring and war-touched muscles. The TKOPW Championship belt was draped across his shoulder left shoulder, and the International title belt over his right, glinting under the strobe lights. His locs were pulled into a thick bun at the crown of his head, edges freshly tapered, face unreadable. Pure God mode.
The announce team went quiet for a few seconds, completely in awe of the turbulence surrounding his arrival. Erik Stevens wasn't just a wrestler; he was an event horizon.
Derek Payne leaned into his mic, whispering like a man standing on sacred ground. “This crowd… they ain’t just reacting. They’re worshipping.”
Sugar Boyce nodded slowly, breathless. “That’s not a man. That’s a myth with a heartbeat.”
Erik climbed into the ring like it owed him rent. No music. No fanfare. Just energy. He was the fanfare.
He walked to the edges of the ring, staring directly at all the cameras, then the fans surrounding him behind the barricades. Finally, he gestured to one of the ring attendants to hand him a mic. The King had something to say.
Taking his final stance, he stood in the center, holding the mic to his lips. The crowd, by some miracle, tried to calm down. They couldn’t. Erik waited until the noise dipped just enough, his gaze remaining unreadable. But the goosebumps on his arms could not be denied. This reception, this power – it was intoxicating. But he wasn’t here for all this.
He finally spoke. His voice low, guttural, but unmistakably relaxed.
“Let’s cut the bullshit.”
The crowd snapped to attention. The shift in atmosphere was palpable. You could hear a pin drop in the arena.
“I didn’t come back to hype up the next pay-per-view. I didn’t come back to talk about defending these belts…” He lifted the gold slightly, then dropped them over the ropes like they were weightless garbage. “I didn’t fly halfway around the world to cut a damn promo.”
He took one slow breath through flared nostrils, gaze locked dead into the camera ahead of him.
“I came back for my wife.”
The crowd exploded. Like glass shattering in every direction. The fans screamed. Some gasped. Some even swooned. The sudden, jarring shift from wrestling dominance to raw, personal vulnerability hit them like a physical blow.
Back in the production trailer, Saige clutched Normandy’s arm like her soul was leaving her body, shaking her in astonishment. “BITCH!!”
Normandy’s eyes widened so big that they almost burst from her face. Her blood ran cold, then hot, adrenaline surging through her veins. Erik... here? Saying this? She couldn't move… Didn’t breathe…
Saige shook her arm harder. “BAY-BEE. GO GET YOUR MAN. NOW.”
But Normandy was frozen in place. Eyes still wide. Mouth slightly parted. Her heartbeat pounding louder than the crowd itself. The words 'my wife' echoed in her head, a foreign, impossible sound in this context.
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Erik’s voice never wavered, though a storm brewed beneath the surface.
“Normandy Garcelle Stevens, I know you’re watching… Baby, I didn’t handle shit right. I didn’t say the right things. I didn’t protect your heart like I should’ve. And I damn sure didn’t come to Japan for love—I came for war. But I left America without peace.” Closing his eyes, memories of her tear-stricken face in Boston drift into his mind then her face broken by heartbreak in Kyoto. It stirred something in him. Desperation. Panic. Determination. This caused him to pace now, like a predator caged in ropes. His eyes darken as a knot forms in his throat.
“Norm, you weren’t a chapter in my story. You were the whole damn plot. You think I flew across oceans for these fans? For some belts? Nah.” He stopped center-ring again, eyes burning straight into the hard cam. Jaw tight. “I flew back to tell the world—there is no Killmonger without Normandy.”
The crowd erupted again, sensing the raw truth in his words. This wasn't part of the show. This was real.
“You can have the titles. You can have the interviews. The accolades. The tours. The fame. But if I can’t come home to her—it don’t mean shit to me.”
Fans were now chanting: “NOR-MAN-DY! NOR-MAN-DY!” The chant started slowly, hesitantly, then grew into a deafening roar as the weight of the moment settled on them. They were part of this story now.
Erik pulled off his coat and tossed it to the mat, exposing every scar, every story inked into his skin. He was laying himself bare.
“You think I’m here to wrestle?” He laughed bitterly, a broken sound mixed with defiance. “I’m here to reclaim my marriage.”
Back in the trailer, Normandy’s hands trembled. She hadn’t cried yet. But her entire chest was vibrating with disbelief, with a fragile, terrifying hope. Could this really be happening? Was Erik Stevens, the man who commanded stadiums, pouring his heart out for her?
Saige turned to her, clutching her hands now, bringing Norm back to reality. “Girl, you better move your ass before someone else runs out that tunnel and claims your man for you.”
Norm stood. Like her legs just knew. Like her heart said, “it’s time.” The shock was receding, replaced by an urgent, undeniable pull from the center of the arena.
Erik was still talking, the whole world watching, and he wasn’t done yet. His voice was softer now, tinged with regret and longing.
“You think I forgot Kyoto? The nights I held you. Made love to you. The way you kissed me before every match like it was our last. How you were the only person to make me feel sane after some crazy ass match. Or how you’d run your fingers through my locs until I fell asleep at night?” He paused. His voice softened further, almost trembling. “You think a nigga didn’t cry when he watched you walk out that door?”
Silence again, but different this time. A hush of collective sympathy and anticipation. Then—
“I don’t want forgiveness. I want forever. I want my woman, in my arms, where she belongs. And if I have to walk through fire, press conferences, Twitter beef, and another damn continent to get you back?” He raised his head, eyes blazing. “Then bet on it, Baby Doll—because I will.”
The crowd lost it. pandemonium returned, but with a new, emotional edge. Sugar was full crying at the booth. “This man out here confessing his SOUL live on air!”
Saige didn’t even blink. She pointed to the trailer door like she was commanding a mission. “Go get your man, Norm.”
Normandy turned to her. Tears welling. Lips trembling. The dam was about to break. “...I-I uh…”
Saige smiled, fierce and proud. “Don’t speak, go to him. Now.”
Normandy ripped off the headset. Flung open the trailer door. And took off.
Hair flying behind her, heart open and pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, she ran down the corridor towards the arena floor. The noise hit her like a physical wave as she emerged from the tunnel – the roar of the crowd chanting her name, the raw energy of thousands witnessing a moment of unparalleled vulnerability. Their eyes were on her now, the spotlight implicitly shifting from the King in the ring to the woman running towards him. Disbelief warred with a burning certainty. He was there. He wanted her. And she was running to him.
Because in that arena… Her king had taken the mic— And made the whole world his witness.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The crowd was still vibrating from the impact of Erik’s pipe-bomb promo. It’s totally not what the productions and directors of tonight’s show were expecting. They just sat in the gorilla, looking at one another then wondering:
“When the hell is Norm coming?”
Chants bounced off the rafters like sacred hymns.
“NOR-MAN-DY! NOR-MAN-DY!”
Erik stood in the center of the ring, chest rising and falling, skin glistening under the lights, jaw tight and eyes scanning the sea of fans like a panther waiting for his prey to appear.
But there was only one person he wanted to see.
He was done talking.
Now, he was waiting.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Backstage Tunnel – North Entrance
The golden glow of the lights beyond the curtain bathed Normandy in a surreal haze.
She stood just out of view from the crowd, heart pounding so hard she could hear it echo in her ears.
Saige had jogged with her halfway through the building, breathless and grinning like a fool.
“Bitch,” she panted, hands on Normandy’s shoulders, “when you step out there, don’t walk—float. Do it for every woman who ever had her man call her out in front of 20,000 fans with his whole chest.”
Normandy blinked.
Then nodded once.
Head high.
Back straight.
Lips glossed. Because Saige was primping her and fixing her appearance:
“We gotta make sure you look divine when you reclaim your man in front of millions of people, Baby.”
It was time.
Normandy didn’t need music. Didn’t need pyro.
All she needed was him.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Inside the Arena
She rounded the corner, and the crowd nearest the north entrance started screaming.
The cameras nearest panned quickly—there she was.
Normandy.
Blowing a deep breath, her eyes danced around to the thousands of faces screaming her name and telling to go to the ring.
“Our King needs you, Queen!”a little boy decked out head to toe in all Killmonger merchandise pleads with wide eyes.
She gives him a gentle smile then strutted down the long ramp in her black, curve-hugging trousers, satin blouse and thick cardigan flaring behind her like a cape, heels clicking like gunshots on the steel. Her curls bounced around her face, her honeyed brown skin radiant under the lights.
She walked like every step cost rent.
Every move screamed “Queen.”
Fans had their phones out, filming her arrival, begging her to make their king “whole again.”
And Erik?
Her appearance caused a snap.
His entire body went still. Jaw clenched. Hands balled into fists at his sides.
His pupils dilated like a predator catching scent.
The veins in his neck pulsed. His chest rose higher. The crowd disappeared. The cameras vanished. There was only her now.
“My baby. Yea, bring yo pretty ass on in here to Daddy.” He mutters as she drew closer. A primal growl rips from his throat the moment her stilettos touched the ringside floor.
Literally.
Growled.
Low. Animalistic. Possessive.
She carefully walked up the steel steps, one of the camera men helping her steady on her feet. She grabbed the middle rope, and climbed through like the ring was hers.
Because it was.
The moment her heels hit the canvas—
He moved.
Erik crossed the space between them in a flash, his massive frame towering, body heat radiating off him in waves. One hand snatched her waist possessively. The other gripped the back of her neck.
Eyes wild.
Chest heaving.
“What’s up, Baby…”
His voice was low, full of hunger.
“Hey.” Normandy stared up at him, face unreadable. “I came to see if you meant every word.”
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“Every single one, Baby Doll.”
She takes in a shuttered breath:
“Say it again,” she whispered.
He bared his teeth like a man unchained.
“You’re mine.”
“Say it louder.”
He lets her go then grabbed the mic still resting on the mat and lifted it with a single hand.
Held it between them.
His voice exploded into every speaker in the arena:
“YOU. ARE. MINE.”
The fans lost it.
Screaming.
Crying.
Throwing merch in the air.
And Normandy?
She grabbed his face and kissed him.
Hard.
Right there under the spotlight.
Under the roar of 20,000 people.
Under God and every championship belt in the world.
His arms wrapped around her tight, one hand gripping her hip, the other up in her curls as their mouths danced—messy, hot, months of longing crashing together in a kiss that said I want you; I choose you, I’ll never stop.
Boston, the almost two-year separation, the rumors… The heartbreak… Faded away once his lips touched hers.
The ring shook from the force of the crowd.
Sugar Boyce, fully fanning herself with her show notes, practically squealed through the headset.
“WHEW! Y’ALL. I—I’M NOT OKAY.”
Derek was laughing in disbelief. “Somebody go unplug the cameras—we witnessing marriage reconciliation erotica LIVE.”
Erik broke the kiss first, but only barely.
His voice was raw. Soft. For her ears only now.
“Let’s go home, Juicy.”
Normandy nodded, chest heaving and rubbing his face as if he weren’t real.
“Only if you never make me walk away again.”
His grip tightened.
“Never again. You leave, and I’m flying behind you. We locked in. Forever.”
And just like that, they were sealed again.
Not by contracts.
Not by gold.
But by love.
By possession.
By a love that refused to stay broken.
Then he pulled her back by the neck and kissed her once more. This time, it lingered.
So did the roar of the crowd.
Killmonger. Normandy. Reunited.
Still tangled in each other’s arms, they broke apart only because they had to breathe.
Normandy’s lips were swollen, eyes glazed, body trembling slightly in his grip—but it wasn’t from nerves.
It was from him.
From being seen, claimed, loved so boldly, so publicly.
She looked up at him, breath hitching as she softly whispered, “Let’s go, Baby.”
Erik didn’t say a word.
He just scooped her into his arms, causing her to shriek at the sudden intrusion.
Effortlessly.
Like she weighed nothing.
Like she belonged there.
The crowd lost it all over again as he cradled her bridal-style in the center of the ring. He turned in a slow circle, letting everyone see her—his queen—wrapped in his arms. Normandy clung to him instinctively, eyes wide as she bit back a laugh.
“N’Jadaka,” she fussed as he swung her a little. “Don’t drop me—”
“Never,” he said without hesitation, smirking down at her. “Ain’t no way I am fumbling you ever again.”
The lights dimmed again.
Spotlight tight on them.
And with the TKOPW and NEW Internation belts now slung over his shoulders, Normandy in his arms, and his locs swaying freely, now, Erik “Killmonger” Stevens walked up the ramp carrying his entire world.
The show closed on that image.
The final shot:
The King, walking into forever—with his Queen.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Backstage – Gorilla Position Tunnel
As they passed the curtain, the tunnel burst into chaos.
Producers.
Stagehands.
Camera crew.
Wrestlers still sweaty from their matches.
All cheering.
Clapping.
Whistling.
Some even wiping away tears.
Sugar Boyce ran up first, phone recording, face slick with emotion and lip gloss. “Y’all, it’s real love! Real. MF’n. LOVE! I don’t care if I get fired, I’m posting this!”
Erik was still holding Norm when Saige charged over, absolutely squealing.
“Girl! I told you! I TOLD YOU! That man said mine like a damn Disney villain with chest!”
Norm laughed breathlessly, overwhelmed by all the love pouring from every corner of the hall. Erik gently lowered her to her feet, but kept one thick arm around her waist like he was afraid she might disappear again.
Monterey came over, clapping slow and dramatic like a soap opera villain. “You two had a nigga tearin’ up and shit… Blew my damn high.”
Even Epique Daughtry and Jaiymee Starr, still sweaty and fatigued from their match, were off to the side smiling and nodding in approval.
“Bro brought a promo to a love war and still won,” Jaiymee muttered.
Then came the man with the clipboard and the clipboard voice.
Archibald Ellison.
Head of Talent Relations. Normandy’s boss.
Stern. Straight-laced. Always overworked.
He approached them slowly, brow arched, arms crossed over his charcoal suit.
The crowd around them quieted slightly.
Erik eyed him, almost daring him to say something sideways.
Norm held her breath.
Archie blinked.
Then extended his hand to Erik.
“Hell of a promo, Stevens.”
Erik took it. “Respect.”
Archie turned to Normandy. “So… You wanna explain how my live main event just became a soap opera marriage proposal?”
Norm licked her lips then smiled, heart racing, but she held her chin high.
“I’m taking time off.”
Erik fingers splayed across her stomach, pulling her closer to him.
Archie raised both brows. “You’re what?”
She repeated, firmer this time.
“I’m taking time off, Archie. Paid or unpaid—I don’t care. I need time with my husband. Real time. Not hallway kisses and FaceTimes at 3am. I’ve given this company everything. But I’m giving myself back to me. To us.”
The silence in the hallway could’ve shattered glass.
The woman who once threw her entire self into her work had now reclaimed her boundaries, not just for her marriage but for her. Normandy knew it was time to become selfish after years of selflessness.
Expecting a snarky comment, her eyes jolted when Archie smirked.
“Finally,” he said with a shrug. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to remember you had a whole husband.”
A collective oohh! echoed around them, followed by laughs.
Normandy shook her head and laughed, too. Her chest felt lighter than it had in months.
Erik leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
“Look at my Juicy-Juice, layin’ down the law and shit.”
She turned her face to his, brushing her nose against his.
“It’s time I fight for you, too.”
He leaned down and kissed my lips once more.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The suite's door opened, and Erik made his entrance with an air of confident desire. His muscular form dwarfed Normandy as he held her hips and planted kisses on her neck. His duffle bag hung on his shoulders, while Normandy's rolling bag was carried with ease by his beloved. Their laughter echoed through the dimly lit room, illuminated by the soft golden glow of scattered lamps.
Orchids, purple and exotic, adorned the room, with his and her robes laid out on the couch. Designer gift bags were scattered here and there, evidence of Erik's eagerness for her return. Erik's fur coat was carefully placed over a chair, followed by a lingering gaze at Normandy, his eyes devouring her like she might vanish again.
"This is your last chance to run, Baby," he growled, his voice low and husky. "But I cannot guarantee that I will not chase you down."
Normandy, unbuttoning her blouse slowly, met his gaze with a confident smile. "I ain't going nowhere, Baby…"
Their connection deepened as they kissed, slow and deep, reverent and passionate. Erik's hands roamed her body, tangled in her curls, slid down to palm her ass. Normandy responded instinctively, melting into him as their bodies fit together perfectly.
He pulled back, whispering, "Mine," before claiming her neck with bruising kisses. Normandy whimpered, arching into him as she admitted, "Yours, Daddy. I'm yours."
Erik tore her blouse from her body, buttons scattering everywhere. Normandy gasped in surprise, half-laughing, half-scolding, "That was designer, Erik!"
“So, is this dick.”
Ignoring her words, Erik lifted her bridal style, his eyes glowing with a mixture of love and desire. He threw her on the bed, where she bounced and let out a startled laugh, her eyes locked on his sculpted, powerful form.
Erik shed his clothes like armor, revealing a body covered in tattoos and scars. Gold slugs flashed between his clenched teeth as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Normandy tried to sit up, but he was already crawling onto the bed, eyes glowing like "touch me and die."
He grabbed her ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed. His voice was deep and velvet dark as he whispered, "You thought you could leave me and there wouldn't be consequences?"
He didn't wait for an answer, pulling down her pants and panties in one rough motion. Normandy gasped as his tongue met her inner thigh, then her hip, then her pussy. She clawed at the sheets, a cry tearing from her lips as he licked and sucked, worshipping her body with his mouth.
When she came, he didn't stop, just sucked her through it, then kissed her stomach as she quivered.
"We're not done," he growled, crawling up her body, licking his lips, licking her from his beard. Normandy was dazed, blissed, limp.
He flipped her, face down, ass up. His massive hand on her lower back, the other fisting his heavy length. He brushed it between her folds with a warning growl.
"This where you belong."
He slammed into her without mercy, making her scream in pleasure. Erik groaned deep, biting her shoulder as he filled her completely.
"Tight as fuck," he panted, starting to thrust. "You miss this, Baby Doll? You miss Daddy fuckin' you?"
"Y-yes, Daddy—"
Smack!
His hand came down on her ass, just once, just right.
"Say it."
"I missed you. I missed us."
He grunted, deep strokes making the bedframe slam the wall.
"Ain't no us without you, Normandy. You my beginning and my end."
His pace turned punishing, possessive, unrelenting. She was crying out now, gripping the pillows like lifelines.
"Jadaka—God—I can't—"
"You can. You will. You mine. My pussy. My wife."
He yanked her up by the hair, kissed her ear, and whispered, "And tonight… I'm putting a baby in you."
Her whole body convulsed, the orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave. She screamed into his neck as her knees gave out, but Erik held her tight, fucked her through it, chasing his own end.
He came with a low, guttural curse, collapsing over her back, both of them trembling in the aftermath.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
They lay tangled in sheets, his chest pressed against her back, arms locked around her middle. He kissed her temple, still breathless. Norm cooed underneath his tenderness, her body singing his praises.
“You good, Baby?”
She turned slightly, her voice hoarse and drunk with love. “I’m ruined.”
He chuckled. “Good. Let ‘em know I’m back.” Then he dips his head and kisses her neck and shoulders some more.
Norm smiled at his tenderness, a stark difference of his behavior before. But this was her N’Jadaka, her baby, her man. Her king.
“I think the entire arena already knows.”
He never ceased his kisses; they remained slow and sweet.
“Welcome home, my Queen.”
Her body molded against his, heart full. Pussy full. Content and adored by the man she thought she would never have again.
“Forever, Baby.”
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The sunlight slipped in slow and soft through the sheer curtains, golden and warm as it kissed over their skin and scattered silk sheets.
Normandy stirred first. Her eyes fluttering open and lips parted with a lazy sigh as stretched and flexed her heavy limbs. Her legs ached... Her hips ached… Her soul ached… All of it because of the man currently spooning her from behind. His massive arm was thrown across her waist like a man who didn’t just survive a storm—he owned it.
He was still asleep, lips parted slightly, low, rhythmic snores filling the quiet room. One leg was hooked over hers, their naked bodies tangled together under nothing but the thinnest whisper of a sheet. His dark locs were wild against the pillow, his warm chest pressed into her back, and every slow, deep breath from him made her feel safe... and wonderfully, deliciously sinful.
She smiled softly, a contented warmth spreading through her, before she tried to pull her trembling legs from underneath his bind. She simply wanted to stretch her aching limbs some more.
“You tryna sneak outta bed?”
His voice. Sleepy. Deep. Dangerous.
She froze, a little shiver tracing down her spine, not from cold. “I wasn’t—”
“Lyin’ ass,” he growled against her neck, his voice thick with sleep and something else entirely. He nuzzled into her soft curls with a warm kiss. “Tryin’ to crawl away from this dick like I didn’t rearrange them guts.”
She laughed softly, a genuine, heart-filled sound, her cheeks warm with a blush that had nothing to do with the morning sun. “You’re something else, Papa.”
“No, baby,” he said, his voice now a low, dark silk that promised trouble and pleasure in equal measure. “I’m insatiable.”
Then—a distinct, polite knock on the door.
Room service.
Normandy glanced back at her husband, surprise lifting her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected company, not even the delivering kind. “You ordered breakfast?”
“Hell yea, I did. You need your strength, Mama,” he rumbled, tightening his hold just slightly before loosening it enough for her to breathe. “’Cause Daddy got plans…” A pause, heavy with implication. “And round two’s gon’ require it.”
She giggled again, the sound light and airy despite the aches in her body. She tried to pull the sheet tighter around herself, a futile gesture now, but Erik was already rolling out of bed in all his full, naked, chiseled-from-the-gods glory.
He stood there for a moment, stretching, muscles rippling in the golden light, completely unselfconscious. Normandy bit her lip, watching him openly. Her eyes wandered down, past the defined abs, the dark trail of hair, to the undeniable, semi-stiff third leg of his. “Mmmm…” The sound escaped her lips before she could stop it, a low hum of appreciative lust.
But he caught her looking. He always did. Even though she wasn’t hiding a damn thing, not really, he still liked to think she didn’t intend to be lusting out loud like that first thing in the morning.
He turned his head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face, his eyes locking onto hers from across the room. “Eyes up, Baby Doll.”
She didn’t even try to pretend innocence. There was no point with this man. She let her gaze linger for another second before meeting his challenge. “I know one thing,” she said, her voice smoky with desire and amusement. “Sausage is on the menu this morning, huh, baby?”
Erik threw his head back and chuckled, a deep, chesty sound that vibrated through the quiet room. That was his Baby Doll, alright. Bold, beautiful, and not afraid to speak her mind. "You mothafuckin' right that's on the menu," he grinned, starting towards the door, "with your fine ass."
The knock came again, more insistent this time, a reminder that the world, and breakfast, waited just outside their door. Normandy just smiled, pulling the sheet up to her chin, anticipating both the meal and the main course her husband had planned.
Ten minutes ago, the bed between them was empty and bare, but now it was covered in a silver tray laden with a decadent breakfast. The smell of warm maple syrup and sizzling turkey bacon filled the air as Erik and Norm sat on the mattress, wrapped up in each other's presence.
Norm sat cross-legged, wrapped in Erik's robe, unable to resist the comforting smell of her husband. Her thighs curved gently under the fabric, and the slight marks on her chest were a testament to the passion they had shared the night before. Erik, on the other hand, was completely naked, a preference he had for most of the time. He leaned against the headboard, sipping his orange juice and watching Norm with a wild hunger in his eyes.
"Eat up, mama," Erik said, his voice low and husky.
Norm smirked and dragged a strawberry between her lips, her eyes never leaving Erik's. His eyes narrowed, and he sucked his teeth, a playful gesture that made Norm's heart race.
"You tryna start something, Juicy?" Erik asked, a challenge in his voice.
Norm shrugged, a wicked grin teasing her swollen lips. "Perhaps, Daddy," she replied, dipping her finger in the syrup and slowly sucking it clean.
Erik's jaw ticked, and he set his glass down on the tray with a soft clink. Norm threw her head back and laughed at his movements, knowing that Erik would not hesitate to claim her as his own. And then he was on her, kissing her deeply and pushing her back down onto the bed.
"You were made for this bed," Erik muttered against her skin, his voice full of raw desire. His tongue traced the same path as the syrup, down her chest, across her stomach, and between her thighs. He didn't give her time to beg. His mouth devoured her, and Norm bucked under him, her fingers tangled in his locs as she cried out his name.
Erik's fingers slipped inside her, curling just right, as his mouth sucked and licked at her clit. Norm came hard, her legs twitching and her back arching as his name spilled from her lips like a prayer.
Erik looked up at her with a wolfish grin, his lips glistening with her pleasure. "Now I'm ready to eat breakfast," he said, his voice low and full of satisfaction.
Before Norm could catch her breath, Erik grabbed her ankles and flipped her to her stomach, pulling her back onto his lap. His erection pressed against her entrance, and Norm couldn't help but moan at the feeling of him inside her.
"I'm not gonna be gentle, Norm," Erik warned, his voice rough with desire.
"Good," Norm panted, pushing back against him. "Don't be."
Erik slammed into her, hard and deep, his hips pistoning against hers. Norm screamed into the pillow as he took her from behind, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back onto him.
Erik held her throat from behind, pulling her upright against his chest as he whispered filth in her ear. "You gonna walk funny on the flight home," he growled, his breath hot against her skin.
"You wanted this reunion?" Norm asked, her voice hoarse with pleasure.
"Then take every inch of it," Erik replied, his voice full of raw desire.
Norm's body was on fire, her skin slick with sweat as Erik took her with a wild abandon that she had never experienced before. He held her close; his arms wrapped around her as he claimed her with every thrust.
And when Norm came again, her voice hoarse and her body spent, Erik followed her, spilling into her with a low, savage growl that echoed off the walls.
And then they collapsed, sweaty and spent, entwined in each other's arms. The breakfast tray lay forgotten on the nightstand, but neither of them cared. They had found something infinitely more satisfying.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
He fed her strawberries in bed with syrup-drenched fingers. The sweetness clung to his skin, a sticky testament to lazy indulgence. He brought the ruby-red fruit to her lips, waiting as she bit into it, juice spreading. Then, he leaned down and kissed her, the taste mingling on their mouths – sweet, faintly metallic from the berries, and the underlying taste of him.
Her head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart, a soothing counterpoint to the quiet hum of the morning. His free hand stroked her hair, tangled from sleep. His lips brushed her temple, a light, tender press.
The comfortable silence stretched, filled only by soft breathing and the occasional faint drip of syrup onto the sheet. But an unspoken question hung in the air, a fragile possibility that had been a shadow over the last few weeks.
“You still comin’ home with me?” he whispered, the softness in his voice unable to entirely mask the thread of uncertainty.
She stirred, lifting her head slightly, her gaze meeting his. Her eyes, heavy with sleep and affection, were soft, holding a quiet resolution that chased away the shadow.
“Baby, you heard what I told Archie,” She said, her voice a low murmur. “I’m going where my King goes.”
A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes in a way that made her heart ache with relief and happiness. The tension that had been coiling subtly in his shoulders seemed to release. He didn't need to ask for how long or explain the depth of his gratitude for this postponement. Her words were a gift.
He kissed her again, a deeper, more certain kiss this time, tasting of strawberries and syrup and pure, unexpected joy. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in.
“Then," he murmured against her temple, his voice thick with emotion, "we gon’ make every second count.”
And they would. Every sunrise not rushed, every shared meal savored, every quiet moment of just being together. The city could wait, the future could wait. For now, there were sticky fingers, sweet kisses, and an unexpected expanse of time stretching before them, ready to be filled, second by precious second.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The sheets were still warm from their last round of reckless, body-breaking love. Erik lay propped against the headboard, one hand behind his head, the other idly tracing the slope of Normandy’s bare back as she lay curled against him. The room smelled like sex and strawberries, the remnants of their breakfast still resting on the nightstand—forgotten the moment he pulled her back under him.
For a long while, there was only silence between them. Peaceful. Heavy. Real.
Until Erik finally spoke.
“I came to Oakland for one reason.” His voice was deep, still thick with sleep and aftermath.
Normandy blinked against his chest. “To wrestle?”
“Nah.” He chuckled low. “That ring ain’t seen the last of me, but I ain’t fly 14 hours for a title defense.” He gently nudged her chin up, making her meet his eyes. “I came to get you. That’s it. That’s the only thing that mattered.”
Her breath caught at the intensity behind those words.
“This company? The crowd? That promo?” He shook his head. “All just noise. I only came back to tell you, face-to-face, I was never whole without you.”
She leaned up slowly, her hand resting over his heart. “So what now?” she asked softly. “You go back to Japan?”
“Back to our house,” he corrected. “Back to Kyoto. I was gonna say we take a few days here, maybe let it settle… give you time to think about it.” He paused. “I know you got work. Family. Your world’s here. I expected you to fight me on this. To say you couldn’t leave again.”
Normandy didn’t blink. She didn’t waver.
Instead, she slowly climbed up, straddling his lap, her curves settling perfectly against his hips as she cupped his face with both hands. Her voice was soft but firm. Steady.
“Wherever you go, baby... I’m following.”
Erik blinked. Twice. “You serious?”
She smiled gently. “I’m so tired of letting fear steal my forever. And my forever’s with you.”
For a man who always knew what to say in the ring, Erik was speechless. His eyes shimmered, jaw flexing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then he kissed her—quick, hard, grateful—his hands gripping her thighs like she might slip through his fingers again.
He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and hit a contact labeled simply: “Bear.”
“Have the jet ready in four hours. Tokyo.”
A pause.
“No. Private. Quiet. Only the essentials.”
Another pause.
“Yeah. She’s coming with me.”
He hung up and tossed the phone onto the mattress like it was dead weight.
Normandy’s brows lifted. “Four hours?”
“Four too many if you ask me.”
She laughed, low and warm. “We don’t even have bags packed.”
“You’re packin’ enough right now,” he growled, eyes roaming her bare body like he hadn’t just memorized it for the third time that morning.
She blushed. “I meant clothes.”
“You won’t need many.” He leaned in, voice a husky whisper in her ear. “I plan on keepin’ you naked in every room of that Kyoto house.”
Her thighs clenched instinctively around his waist. “So that’s the plan, huh?”
He kissed her shoulder. “That’s the mission, Mrs. Stevens.”
She rested her forehead against his, breathing him in. “I’ve missed our little pond. The quiet. Our writing nook…”
“Our nursery,” he added quietly.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Yeah. That too.”
He kissed her again—slower now, reverent. One hand sliding up her spine while the other held the back of her head like he never planned on letting go.
A/N: and i was so glad to deliver….even without proofreading it first but dammit i am for the people’s needs.
——————
You’ve watched in silence as he took over Wakanda, planning with the council to oversee the preparations of Vibranium distribution. Each day since his victory, his confidence grew judging by how he strutted along the castle halls arrogantly. He was still winning.
You despised it all.
Especially how you don’t seem to be wanting him to stop.
Everytime he’d be in the same room as you, your jaw clenches and he’d notice, smirking to himself knowing damn well he made an impression on you.
Okoye was the one who saw what seemed to be happening between you and the new king.
“I’ve arranged plans to get you out of the castle without any suspicion. You need to run, Y/N. Nakia will meet you. I fear you’re not safe here.” She said to you when you were alone in your room, putting on your Dora Milaje armor.
You turned to her, fighting to not show emotion. “No. I made a vow when I became one of you. I will stay and protect the throne even if it’s from the one sitting on it.”
“But who’s going to protect you?”
“I can do that perfectly on my own, Okoye. You didn’t teach me nothing.”
She paused and looked at you with worry, but chose to say nothing else about the matter. “Be careful, Y/N. Men like him will never be content.”
You watched as she walked out of the room but when she opened the door, N’jadaka was standing on the other side of it. His hands were placed on his back as he stood, the golden designs of the black panther necklace gleaming in his chest, the coat barely covering his scars.
“Get out and do your job.” His voice gruff and dismissive when he talked to Okoye. You glared at him. How dare he disrespect the greatest warrior in Wakanda?
But Okoye just nodded, leaving the place with tight lips and a knowing look between you and Erik.
You tried to move past him, too, knowing you were also still Dora and have a job to do, like he said. However, his large built blocked the path and kept you trapped inside your room, with the king smirking down at you.
“Move.” You said, aware that your voice might waiver if you weren’t careful.
“You don’t give the orders here.”
“I’m not following yours anyway.”
He pursed his lips, taking a step forward, the door closing behind him as he entered your room. Erik moved his finger towards his chin as if in deep thought. “Hmm.” His deep voice hummed, “So why’re you still here? Come on, baby girl. There’s gotta be a reason why you haven’t run away yet. I know you can, too. That general of yours has a plan to get you away from here…..Away from me?”
He started circling you then. You can feel his eyes raking over your body, how his stare was burning your skin. You gulped, your fists clenching at your sides. Then you felt Erik get closer from behind you, his lips suddenly next to your ear as his hard warm chest were pushed against your back.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He whispered, chuckling low to himself. He knew about the effect he had on you even without placing his hands on your body. The passionate and burning hatred that you so desperately want to release on him. The violent desire.
You gasped, finally knowing that he felt the same way towards you when he pushed his hips forward, his hard erection pressing against your ass.
“No.” You said, defying him even more.
But Erik wasn’t mad at that. No. He was enjoying it. He felt you stiffened when his hands held your waist from behind, his palms moving up towards your abdomen and just stopping below your heaving chest.
“You never listen, do you?” He said, his teeth almost grazing the nape of your neck. “I told you to not turn your back on me.”
Your eyes widened in realization and gasped, suddenly pushing him away from you. But Erik caught your arm and stopped you, smirking before pulling you in. His hand held onto the back of your neck as he claimed your lips, forcefully, as if he was desperate.
You tried to push him away but when his arms were wrapped around you, you were done for. You were his and you were trapped.
Erik’s hand moved down your back to palm your ass, pushing all of his body towards you. When you found the chance to pull away, you gave him a sharp slap on his cheek.
He laughed at that. “You’re lying to yourself, Y/N. You want this……You want me.”
He watched in amusement as your face blushed red, both in anger and in lust. You were determined to stand your ground though. With quick movements, you had your spear in your hand and pointed it at his chest, your stance ready for a fight.
“I’ll kill you.” You snarled.
His chest huffed a small chuckle. “You’re a Dora Milaje warrior. You’ve sworn to protect me.” He said, unmoving as he stood clearly not intimidated by you at all.
You shook your head. “You’re wrong. I’ve sworn to protect the crown…..And that does not belong to you.”
That’s when you charged at him, your spear attacking him, aiming at his body but he was quick. Erik evaded your attacks long enough for the golden necklace of the Black Panther covered his body in the indestructible Vibranium suit. You heard a laugh coming from his mask.
“So the warrior fights.” He said, moving to offensive positions, his suit’s claws out as he lunged at you. You twirled, avoiding his attacks but he was experienced. Clearly.
Erik’s claws got your upper arm, slicing through your Dora Milaje armor and seeing blood seep out slowly. You ignored the pain and kept fighting him. You landed a few hits when you got rhythm enough to catch him mid attack. You found it harder and harder to keep up with him until the two of you ended up outside, on your balcony, where the Wakandan sun was on its way to set.
He growled, attacking again, but you were a warrior indeed. Trained by the best. You used the momentum from his jump towards you to let him fall then that’s when you landed a blow on him. It was so powerful that Erik fell to his stomach. He tried to get up quick but just as he was rolling to be on his back, your legs stood on either side of him and bent down in a low squat, your spear pointing at his neck as you looked down at him.
Why did I stop?, you asked yourself as your brows furrowed in frustration.
Erik undid his mask and grinned up at you, not making any move to get up now that you were on top of him.
“What will you do now, babygirl?” He was teasing you. “You gonna kill me?”
You stayed still, your hands tight around your weapon and your eyes on his.
Erik chuckled. “You know what, if it’s you, I wouldn’t mind it. Especially since you’re on top.”
His hand went up to your waist then, holding you in place as he pushed himself up, rubbing his erection against your ass. You heard him whisper something but at this point you couldn’t care less.
You lost control.
The spear was thrown to the side as your head moved down to meet his lips again, this time on your own accord. Something Erik genuinely enjoyed. He pushed himself up, his lips still on yours, his tongue tasting you while you willingly let him. You both stood up, his hands caressing up and down your body. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, not helping yourself anymore as you wanted more of him.
Erik smirked, hearing tiny moans coming from you. He got rough then, ripping your clothes from behind and letting it fall, leaving your body exposed to him. He continued kissing you again, his hands roaming up your breasts, teasing your nipples making them sensitive to his and only his touch. Erik deactivated his Vibranium suit, leaving him in his pants only as your hands immediately moved across his chest, your fingers trailing against the scars.
He turned you around then, bending you over against the balcony’s railing, knowing there might be people down there that can see everything. But neither of you cared.
As you widen your legs towards him, Erik moaned at the sight before leaning forward to whisper something to your ear. “This is mine now.”
You gasped, not able to keep your mouth shut as he entered you from behind. Your slick folds enveloping all of him as your walls contracted, adjusting to his admirable size. “Fuck.” You hissed, feeling so deliciously full.
“That’s right, baby. Give me what’s mine.” You heard his deep voice groan in pleasure, turning you on even more as you started to move your ass back. He caught your movement and you just know he’s doing that devilish smirk behind you.
“Be careful, sweetheart. I don’t hold back.”
“Erik…” you heard yourself whimper, desperate for more friction.
You felt him grab a handful of your hair, as if bracing himself.
Then he moved. Erik didn’t held anything back. And neither did you.
His thrusts, powerful and deep, hit you so good everytime. His hips didn’t stop when he reached his rhythm.
Your moans, loud and uncontrollable, gave him enough motivation just to hear more. He growled as he pushed in and out of you, roughly as if all his emotions were being released. And you were glad to accept them. You enjoyed it. You took all of him unrelentingly.
It wasn’t long until your legs started to shake that Erik had to keep boh his hands firm on your waist to keep you still. You screamed his name countless times and soon he’s lost his rhythm. His deep thrusts became sloppy as you felt him groan loudly. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna come.”
And when he reached his climax, you offered yourself to him when he released his load inside you. His fingers dug themselves in your ass as he rode out his orgasm.
Erik stilled and so did you. You felt him pull out and turn you around to face him.
Both your heartbeats matched as the two of you panted, calming down while you looked up at him and him at you.
Your hands moved by themselves then, your palm caressing his scar covered chest. He watched you silently.
Then he smiled. Genuine, this time. Not teasingly. Not a smirk.
